


The Middle Earth

by TheUniverseWillSing



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Domestic, Lord of the Rings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-04
Updated: 2011-11-04
Packaged: 2017-10-25 16:33:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUniverseWillSing/pseuds/TheUniverseWillSing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John fall asleep watching Lord of the Rings. Just a fluffy little one-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Middle Earth

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt on sherlockbbc_fic: "Are you a hobbit, John?"

See, alright, it started with a chase across London, as usual. And wow, what a grand chase it had been, if John were to be perfectly honest with himself. He loved the running. And he loved Sherlock. So, that was an added bonus, really, being able to watch Sherlock’s bum as he ran in front of him.

But that wasn’t the point! The point was that they hadn’t gotten in until midnight and, breathless with laughter and the adrenaline rush, were unable to sleep.

They’d tried everything to fall asleep. _Everything_. John had made cocoa, and warm milk, and Sherlock had downed them all eagerly. They waited five minutes, and still were wide awake. They tried cuddling on the sofa (John got a crick in his neck), cuddling in bed (Sherlock got bored), sex (for the first time in their relationship, _John_ wasn’t in the mood), reading together (Sherlock kept turning the page too soon), and going over old case notes (too much to think about so late).

John was actually quite tired by then, but Sherlock was a live wire ready to explode. They’d had this problem before, of course; his system just got thrown off-track by his erratic habits. After week-long cases he would sleep for an entire twenty-hour block before returning to a semi-normal schedule, peppered with bouts of insomnia, before the next cast came along. On some occasions (such as that particular night) he had actually slept too much in the past several days, and his body was refusing to shut down. It was frustrating for the both of them, but John never left his side, for health reasons until about three months previous.

At 2 AM John finally got up and shuffled to his bedroom. Sherlock remained draped on the couch, a look of bewildered hurt cutting across his pale face at the apparent abandonment. However, minutes of muted shifting and one or two muffled curses later, John returned bearing a slightly worse-for-wear DVD case.

“We’re watching a film,” he announced before unceremoniously dropping the disk into the player, nudging Sherlock into a more comfortable position, and lying with his sandy head pillowed on the detective’s shoulder. It had been a long while since he’d seen Lord of the Rings, but hopefully it would at least interest Sherlock enough into lying still while John caught a few winks. Within the first twenty minutes, he was asleep.

***

John awoke to the DVD’s main menu looping itself over and over on the television screen, wiped an errant bit of saliva from his cheek, and peered up at his companion. Sherlock was dead asleep. It was almost a pity, as he probably missed a good bit of the film. But, alas, there was nothing for it, and it would probably be a fair bit of time before the detective would sit still long enough to watch a film with him and stay awake. Not wanting to disturb his flatmate, John simply inched his hand along the floor until he found the clicker and muted the volume, leaving the screen on to flicker soothingly.

He dozed on and off for several more hours, until around 11 AM, when he had to admit that even with a detective to rest on, the sofa was not comfortable. John very carefully raised himself up off of the blasted piece of furniture and tip-toed to the kitchen to make tea.

Ten minutes later, there was no change in the detective. John hated to wake him, but knew that they should really try getting into the swing of sleeping at night, and not falling asleep very early and through the day. “Sherlock,” he gently said, nudging the taller man’s shoulder. He crouched at Sherlock’s side. “Sherlock, I’ve got tea here for you. C’mon love, wake up.”

Sherlock groaned and raised his head slightly from where he’d rolled over into the couch. “John?” he rasped blearily.

“That’s right. It’s time to get up now, Sherlock.”

An unhappy noise came from the depth of the sofa before John was under the scrutiny of his unfocused sleepy eyes. “You’re shorter. Are you a hobbit, John?”

John fought a chuckle and rubbed Sherlock’s arm. “Not exactly, love. Now come on, up you get...”

It wasn’t until hours later that Sherlock, awake and alert and _bored_ , seemed to remember what he’d said.

“I asked if you were a hobbit.”

This time, John snorted. “Yes. Yeah, you did. It’s alright, you were tired.”

Sherlock scowled. “That’s ludicrous. I apologize.”

“Don’t apologize,” insisted John with a grin. “It was...I’ve never seen you comfortable enough not to constantly monitor what you say. It was sweet.”

Silence fell over the sitting room for several minutes while Sherlock seemed to contemplate what John had said. It wasn’t much of a big deal; John went back to updating his blog and occasionally shouting at the television. It was ten minutes before anything even remotely interesting happened, and it was Sherlock’s doing again.

“So...are you?”

John looked up with slightly narrowed eyes. “Am I what?”

The corner of Sherlock’s mouth twitched. “A hobbit, John. Do keep up.”

He fought the strong urge to roll his eyes. “Very funny, Sherlock. I’m short. I get it.” He couldn’t help smiling at the mischievous look on Sherlock’s face.

“I really should have seen it sooner,” continued the detective. “You do eat quite a lot, don’t you?”

“Sherlock,” John warned.

“You tend to be shy in social situations, but are capable of great feats of courage.”

Alright, he’d let that one slide.

“Not to mention your hairy feet.”

“Sherlock!”

He stood from his chair and made a move toward the taller man, but Sherlock danced away as easily as anything else he did, unabashedly grinning. “Did you live in a hole in the ground before you met me, John?” he asked, voice hurried and louder than normal with laughter lingering around the edges.

They took three laps around the flat, John grabbing up the Union Jack pillow on the second go-round, while Sherlock continued to make “observations” that could lead to the conclusion that John was a hobbit. On the third lap, John finally caught him. Sherlock really made the most adorably put-out noises when being beaten by a cushion. He wrapped one arm around the taller man’s neck, and they wrestled their way onto the sofa. And then onto the floor, because there wasn’t enough friction between their clothes and the leather upholstery.

“If I’m a hobbit, you’re Smaug,” he smiled breathlessly, face inches from Sherlock’s.

The detective grinned back even though he probably had no idea who Smaug was. “Perhaps we should cause some inter-species scandal, then.”

Downstairs in her flat, Mrs. Hudson sat content with a cup of tea and the sound of her boys’ laughter long into the afternoon.


End file.
